


Death of a Bachelor

by ohta_san



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Voice Kink, also if u squint ur eyes and tilt ur head u will see background kagehina, hinata is an aerial silk dancer, kind of AHAHHA, kuroo is a singer with the voice of an angel & kenma is weak, kuroo is too hot to handle, more characters and tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohta_san/pseuds/ohta_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma finds himself wandering a foreign downtown scene where he is introduced to the fabled Kuroo Tetsurou: the headlining act at an upscale club due to his sultry, intoxicating voice and alluring nature. Kenma refuses to fall victim to the singer's incantations, but resistance proves to be futile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Panic! in Kenma's Pants

**Author's Note:**

> hello, everyone! i'm ohta-san, aka lexi and this is my first ever haikyuu fic!! haikyuu is basically my life and i've been wanting to contribute to the fandom for a long time so i hope this makes the cut ♥
> 
> ALSO yes u caught me this was heavily inspired by panic! at the disco's newer song "death of a bachelor" i just totally fell for the old-timey, frank sinatra-esque feel & the sexy lyrics i was like OK. ENOUGH. KUROKEN HERE I COME. but ya, definitely check out the song. i think it would create a nice supplement if you're interested in reading my fic ♥ thanks!
> 
> scream at me on tumblr: ohta-san.tumblr.com  
> scream at me on twitter: twitter.com/jiIessio

From overhead, one could pinpoint a head of box-dyed hair fighting against the current of a bustling crowd. 

The moon was at its peak; however, the night’s stars hid bashfully from the intimidatingly blinding Tokyo skyline. Neon signs flickered and illuminated the city’s streets an assortment of vivid colors. Mainstream music blared from distant shops, luring in the business of curious pedestrians. Kenma didn’t fall victim to the temptations; he had somewhere to be, he reminded himself. Although the crumpled slip of paper with directions scrawled on the front that he held clenched in his small fist wouldn’t let him forget that fact. 

The sight of city nightlife was enough to overstimulate the college boy, but the clamor of the crowd shoving against him had him teetering over the edge. He huffed in annoyance as a passing stranger’s elbow jabbed at his ribcage. There were reasons as to why he refused to leave his dorm: one of them being Dark Souls II, but that was hardly relevant at the moment. 

It was a Tuesday night and Kenma didn’t think twice about wearing his oversized hoodie that swallowed his entire torso, but now, he realized he regretted his decision as he felt severely underdressed compared to the nightcrawlers surrounding him. Designer bags and blouses, stilettos and did that woman have a chihuahua in her purse? God, Kenma was literally the epitome of Broke University Student™ and that never bothered him before, but embarrassment began to taint his consciousness. He shoved the intrusive thoughts out of his mind and focused wholly on the task at hand.

Once the sea of people finally passed, Kenma heaved a sigh of relief. The breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of his destination and he let out a weak cough. Hideously ostentatious, a sign that read “EXCALIBUR” flashed at him in disgusting hot pink letters. He curled his fingers around the ticket he stuffed in his hoodie pocket earlier. Kenma surveyed his surroundings quickly, eyes scanning over the short line gathering at the entrance of the club. A bouncer, broad and mysterious, was planted at the door, arms folded across his massive chest. 

_“Just waltz right in and come straight backstage, okay?”_ The sound of Hinata’s voice echoed in his mind, but as Kenma cautiously eyed the bouncer, he considered dallying in line with the others. 

He took a tentative step towards the entrance and the bouncer must have caught the subtle movement because his glare immediately snapped towards Kenma. His voice was a grumble as he spoke, “If you’re here for the show, it doesn’t start for another half hour.” He jutted his square chin to the end of the line.

Kenma blinked at him before revealing the ticket Hinata gifted him days ago. The man’s eyes searched the slip for any discrepancies before he stepped aside and held the entrance door ajar. 

His tone was monotonous as he recited a line Kenma was sure he spouted off thousands of times a day, “Enjoy your magical night at Excalibur.” Kenma swallowed the scoff that crept up his throat at the corniness. 

The cool breeze of the air-conditioned room ghosted across Kenma’s face and helped soothe his jittery nerves. Thankfully, the club hadn’t opened for the night and only waiters and bartenders scurried about as they finished up their preparations. Black walls, black velvet floor, black glossy tables garnished with contrasting red roses. The chic ambiance was definitely a pleasant surprise due to the nightclub’s unfortunate title. 

Kenma’s wandering eyes then fell on the stage, where a professional woman donning a headset stood observing as crew members rolled a gaudy grand piano out from behind the curtains. _Backstage,_ Kenma remembered then. _Right._ But before he could take his first step, the high-pitched, shrill voice he was now accustomed to due to years of friendship sounded from across the room.

“Kenma!” Hinata practically screeched as he waved animatedly with his entire body. “Over here!” 

He was peeking from behind a curtain and Kenma could spot the blinding smile plastered on that face of his. He inwardly chuckled before maneuvering around tables and chairs towards the vibrating boy. Once Kenma reached his destination backstage, he was once again overwhelmed as crewmen rushed past him, lugging random props and transporting sound equipment. The woman with the headset was now tapping away at a microphone stand placed center stage and her disinterested, phlegmatic voice sounded over the speakers, “Mic check. Test. One, two, three.” She pointed a finger towards the ceiling, gesturing towards an out of sight sound-man to boost the volume. 

Hinata flung his small frame around Kenma in a tight embrace, radiating exuberant energy. “Kenma!” He exclaimed again, closer to Kenma’s ear, forcing him to wince. “Thanks for coming!”

Kenma hummed in response, standing stiff and stuffing his hands into his pockets. People in elaborate clothing shuffled around him and Kenma still felt extremely out of place. Even Hinata was sporting a rhinestone studded leotard that complemented his lean figure. His hair was styled wildly and sharp, winged eyeliner gifted life to his features. Hinata’s expression immediately melted into one of concern as his almond eyes scanned Kenma’s features. Somehow, he was always able to tell when Kenma’s silence was too silent. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked, his voice hushed. 

Kenma hesitated before nodding his head. “This is just,” he paused, observing his surroundings. “A lot.”

Hinata emotionally and physically pouted. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know you don’t like big events like this. I should have taken that into consideration. I just,” he sighed as he slumped, tugging at the strap of his leotard. “I really wanted you to be here for my first performance.” 

Kenma nodded understandingly. “It’s okay,” he assured his friend. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to be here.” 

The boy instantaneously perked up. “Are you sure?” He questioned, unable to mask his enthusiasm. “I’m just an intermission act so I’ll understand if-”

“I’m going to watch you perform, Shouyou,” Kenma stated. “You’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Hinata sighed dreamily as he pulled at the edge of the curtain, surveying the empty room. “Remember when that was me?” He pointed at a boy dressed in a black uniform sweeping at the floor near the bar.

“That was literally you like two weeks ago, Shouyou.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to reminisce.”

Kenma smirked as he glanced at the time on his phone. Only five minutes left before showtime. Hinata was already bouncing in his place with nerves and anticipation. The crew was settling down now and weren’t scurrying about like petrified mice. 

Soon, the crowd began spilling in and Hinata’s complexion began darkening. He was picking at his leotard and squirming like a toddler itching with anxiety. The backstage crew were all in position now; the headset lady spoke softly into her mic. Kenma knew he needed to find a seat amongst the audience, but a pang of guilt settled in his gut as his friend’s excitement was soon replaced with apprehension. He never knew what actions to take in these situations.

Suddenly, an enticing camphoraceous scent wafted across his face and a looming figure whisked past him. His eyes caught the movement and followed the man as he attached himself to Hinata’s side. He planted a large, comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Kenma eyed the stranger suspiciously. His gaze trailed up never ending legs, clad in fitted black formal trousers. His cotton button-down hugged his lean torso and the top two buttons were undone, exposing the top of a defined chest and collarbones that Kenma subconsciously lingered on. A skinny tie was loosely wrapped around his neck and his mussed hair _screamed_ sex. His cocky aura let Kenma know that yeah, this guy knew he looked hot. When you look like that, it’s kind of hard not to know. Kenma suddenly felt even _more_ aware of his baggy hoodie and jeans. Heat was pooling in his cheeks as the mystery man shot him a once-over and Kenma considered dashing home for a wardrobe change. 

The man was grinning down at Hinata and Kenma considered it more intimidating than assuring. “Hey, kiddo,” he drawled out in a low voice. “I could feel you freaking out from across the room. What’s the deal?” 

It took a couple unsuccessful tries before Hinata's quivering subsided enough to deliver a solid answer, but he finally managed. “Kuroo, what if I suck?” _Kuroo._

Kuroo scoffed and Hinata flinched slightly at the sound. “What if you suck? I- Hinata, I watched your practice run. Your little flips and shit,” he gestured wildly with his hands, imitating Hinata’s “flips.” “You nail them. I wish I could do half the stunts you do.”

Kenma continued to stare at the stranger with caution, observing his expressions and analyzing his words. 

“The crowd’s gonna love you,” Kuroo continued, giving Hinata’s shoulder a squeeze. Kenma watched in awe as the greenness drained from Hinata’s complexion. Kuroo stated it with such ease, as if the audience had no other choice but to love Hinata’s act. Because Kuroo said so. “All you need to do is go out there and have a good time, and you’ll be headlining in no time. Promise.” 

Kenma observed as Kuroo’s long fingers maneuvered to button the top of his shirt and tighten the knot in his tie. He caught Kenma’s stare with his own and the corners of his lips twitched up in a subtle smirk. 

Hinata’s bubbly aura returned quicker than it left and he vanished through a door backstage without a farewell. Kenma gulped. Alone. With cocky stranger. Cocky stranger who is annoyingly hot.

“I apologize for not introducing myself right away,” he began in that low voice of his and why did everything about this guy just _ooze_ sensuality? “I’m Kuroo. Tetsurou. And you-”

“...need to find a seat,” Kenma murmured before he dashed out of sight, ignoring the handshake Kuroo offered. 

The room was already packed and overflowing with chattering people. Waiters were practically sprinting to deliver people their drinks from the bar. Kenma was grateful he was able to claim a seat in the non-crowded VIP section and he breathed out a sigh. He was relieved that he was finally able to relax in peace, but a part of him still felt flustered by Kuroo’s overbearing presence. He also most likely came off as incredibly rude just a moment ago, but the thought was hardly enough to disturb him. 

A waitress soon glided past and beamed at him, notepad in hand. “Hello, sir, can I get you anything to drink this evening?”

Kenma blinked up at her; her smile didn’t falter. “Um,” he uttered. Kenma hardly drank and when he did, he wasn’t picky. He enjoyed the occasional beer because it was simple; however, sipping on a lager in a place like this seemed wrong. “Surprise me.” 

The waitress hesitated before nodding her head and scampering away. Kenma reclined in the plush chair, forearms taking advantage of the armrests. He let his head fall back as he listened to the subdued ambient music that sounded over the speaker system. Soon his eyes were fluttering closed but he was quickly snapped back to the reality by the waitress placing his drink on a nearby stand with a clink. He thanked her, curiously observing the cloudy liquid that filled the martini glass to the brim. He pressed his mouth to the rim and tipped the glass back. His lips puckered at the tart sensation and he grimaced at the aftertaste. He considered flagging down another waiter to bring him something that didn’t taste like sour piss, but suddenly the lights began to dim, and an almost eerie hush fell over the crowd. 

Kenma directed his gaze to the stage where his eyes fell on a tuxedo clad man hunched over the piano. Time was at a standstill as anticipation washed over the audience, begging for the first note, and when the man struck the initial chord, thee people simultaneously leaned forward in their seats. Kenma recognized the tune automatically as “Clair de Lune”, a classical piece he could only identify because it was used in the soundtrack of one of his favorite games. 

It started off slow, innocent, Kenma pictured the rural night sky overtaking his vision. Random clusters of stars flickered and contrasted starkly against the darkness. As the song climaxed and the piano man’s fingers danced vigorously over the keys, suddenly the fictional constellations before his eyes began twirling and spinning elegantly to the rhythm, as if this were their own personal ball. The piece came to an almost abrupt end and the audience was snapped out of their trance. Kenma clapped genuinely as the man bowed and sauntered off stage, the flaps of his tuxedo trailing behind him. 

The show continued on like that, each act as magical and entrancing as the last. Ballerinas, magicians, musicians all dominated the stage and commanded the audience’s attention. After thirty minutes of entertainment passed, an announcer called for intermission and Kenma was now at the edge of his seat, peering at the stage expectantly. He was pleased to see hardly anyone moved to leave their chairs and were now harboring the same excitement that was bubbling up inside him.

A long, giant silk fabric was dangling gracefully from the ceiling. Polite applause rippled throughout the room as Hinata toed his way on stage. Music began pounding out of the speakers and vibrated the walls. Hinata grasped the fabric in his hands, hoisting himself up with ease. He was winding the ribbon around his petite frame, tangling his body in the silk. He began striking modelesque poses effortlessly, as if he weren’t suspended ten feet in the air. He then split the fabric in two, grasping on to the separate ropes and supporting his body with pure strength. He was flipping now, somersaulting in the atmosphere and the crowd gasped in response. 

Even Kenma’s mouth was agape as he watched Hinata wind himself back up in the rope. The fabric was twisting around his middle, threatening to split him in half. He watched in utter horror as Hinata peaked then completely unraveled himself, spinning frantically in air. The audience blanched and braced themselves for Hinata’s probable impact, but he jolted to halt only centimeters from the ground, clenching the silk between his hands. The crowd was cheering the boy on now as he scaled back up the rope with a blissful grin plastered to his face. 

Kenma was mirroring the smile, grasping on to his armrests as his eyes hungrily absorbed Hinata’s spectacle. He truly had no idea his friend was so talented. Once Hinata concluded his performance and strutted off stage to the sound of cheers and applause, Kenma began lifting himself up from his seat, but the sound of his friend’s voice in his head kept him anchored in place. 

_“You have to stay for the headlining act!”_ Hinata had exclaimed a few nights ago. _“He’s absolutely amazing. Just watching him warm up can give you chills.”_

His eyes darted towards the exit. Would Hinata notice if he left? The evening had been overwhelmingly intense for introverted Kenma and nothing sounded more inviting than curling up in a blanket with his DS. The acts had been truly spectacular, but in all honesty, Kenma had no interest in the headliner. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the invisible announcer boomed over the speakers. “Put your hands together-” 

The lighting dimmed further and a string of curse words slipped past Kenma’s lips. The main performance was about to begin and he needed to make it to the opposite side of the room before it was too late. 

A dark, ominous figure ambled on stage and a familiar compelling emanation swallowed his entire being. The air was tense, stiff. The complete silence was unnerving; Kenma could hear blood pumping in his ears. An uneasy feeling in his stomach felt like a stone settling in the pit of his gut. And why was he holding his breath? 

Kenma shook his apprehension away and stood from his seat, keeping his gaze to the floor. 

“Excalibur presents to you: Kuroo Testsurou!” 

At that, his eyes snapped back up to see the towering man standing center stage. To his horror, Kuroo was staring daggers at his face, pinning the boy back into his seat helplessly. Kenma silently complied, his mouth going dry. A deep, rippling bass line rattled Kenma’s bones and did nothing to still his now racing pulse. 

Kuroo pressed a microphone to his lips, his other hand placed soulfully over his chest. A sultry, velvet voice had the room overflowing. 

_“Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face,”_ the man crooned, his eyes fluttering closed. Royal blue mood lighting washed down on him, intensifying the contours of his serious features. Kenma suddenly felt heaviness weighing him down as if Kuroo’s voice had some kind of spell over his body. Each word that had the privilege of passing through those lips was swimming around Kenma’s head, polluting his rational thinking and suffocating him.

He shifted uncomfortably as Kuroo’s voice swelled and hit high notes that had the audience melting in their seats. And Kenma knew that he knew it, by the occasional egotistical grin that toyed at his mouth. 

His voice low, mind numbing, and enticing, _“Alone at a table for two,”_ his eyes were open now, half-lidded and peering at Kenma again, sitting front row. His hand fluttered up to loosen the tie around his neck as he continued, _“And I just wanna be served.”_ His tone was practically _dripping_ with seduction and underlying meanings, and the subtle wink he shot in Kenma’s direction confirmed that theory. 

Kuroo refused to tear his gaze away and this was so incredibly unfair; Kenma was huffing in irritation and he was sure the shade of his face was putting strawberries to shame. _“And when you think of me, am I the best you’ve ever had?”_ The fingers of his free hand were now teasingly pulling at the belt loops in his pants as his hips swiveled ever so slightly. Kenma barely caught the movement and he wished he hadn’t. He was playing right into the cocky bastard’s hands. He seemed to be the only audience member that minded though because ladies were standing at their feet, hooting, and whistling at Kuroo’s tantalizing show. 

Kenma ducked his head, lowering his gaze to the floor where it remained glued there for the rest of the man’s act. He ignored the heated stare he could still feel prickling his flesh and he ignored the way his head was spinning so violently it made his temples throb. 

After a handful more of painful songs, Kuroo finally bowed to the crowd and swaggered off stage where he disappeared behind the curtains. A standing ovation ensued, but Kenma refused to join, afraid his wobbly knees would collapse underneath his weight.

\--

The evening was rapidly coming to a conclusion. The club had cleared for the most part, excluding the handful of people who found repose at the bar. Employees were scattered about the room, sweeping away the aftermath of the night. It was almost tranquil, the still silence surrounding him was a much needed contrast to earlier events. Kenma swiveled in his bar stool, sipping the beer bubbling in his glass. He sighed as he ran his thin fingers through his locks. _Much, much needed._

Kenma inwardly groaned at himself. He took pride in that he was never one to double take at physical appearances and desire was always second to rationality, but his streak was tarnished. He was putty slipping through that man’s fingers, feeling completely submissive to that domineering aura. 

His mind was replaying Kuroo’s stunts, the wink, the subtle gyrating of his hips not mistakenly thrown in his direction. He heaved out a shaky breath, pressing his palms to his eye sockets. Kenma knew he was nothing but Kuroo’s plaything for the performance and that fact left him feeling utterly flustered. 

Kenma peeked at the time on his phone through his fingers. Hinata said he would only take ten minutes in the dressing room so they could walk home together, but half an hour already passed. His eyes flickered around the room, searching for a head of loud orange hair. His hunt was cut short as he felt a gust of wind brush past him and an all too familiar presence settled down at his left. 

“Scotch,” Kuroo grinned at the bartender, baring a row of glossy, pearly teeth. “Neat, please.”

The bartender nodded solemnly before pouring amber colored liquid into a clear glass, sliding it over to the raven-haired man with ease. Kuroo tipped the glass back as he eyed Kenma through his peripherals. Oh, Kenma could feel it. 

Kuroo rotated in his stool, facing Kenma directly. His bent knees were nudging at Kenma’s sides and the boy was sure it was done purposely. Kenma kept his gaze on the beer he held in his palms, suddenly the drink becoming his most recent fascination. 

“Hello,” Kuroo droned and Kenma tensed. Kuroo noticed. “Speak of the devil?” His tone was laced with amusement. 

“And he shall appear,” Kenma mumbled as his eyes snapped to his side, meeting stares with the feline-like predator. He could have swore Kuroo jolted slightly in his seat at that; Kenma has been told his eyes could catch people off guard. Kuroo’s hair was rumpled even further than before his performance. The top buttons of his shirt were undone again, exposing the expanse of his tanned chest. His tie was completely discarded, baring a long and tempting neck. Kenma crossed his legs.

Kuroo was able to recompose himself in a fraction of a second and he was leaning forward now, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He chuckled, breathy, and the scent of scotch washed over Kenma’s face. “I don’t think I caught your name earlier.” 

Kenma was determined to not slip back underneath Kuroo’s spell. His voice remained monotonous and uninterested as he muttered in reply, “That’s because I didn’t give it to you.”

Kuroo’s grin turned devious, obviously pleased at the challenge. “Mind telling me now? For future reference.” Was everything an innuendo with this guy or was Kenma reading too into things?

Kenma hummed as he returned his attention back to the bar. “Kozume Kenma,” he mumbled, sipping from his glass. 

“Ken. Ma,” Kuroo enunciated, tinged with playfulness. “Kozume doesn’t suit you.” 

The nerve of this man: calling a stranger by his given name and completely dropping honorifics. Kenma pondered if this was merely part of his seduction act. He hummed once again, hoping his curt replies would deliver his unspoken message. 

Kuroo motioned for the bartender to refill his glass. “How’d you enjoy the show?”

“Good. It was entertaining,” Kenma mused, deadpan. Was he attempting small talk? God, where was Hinata?

As the bartender topped Kuroo off, the man reached over, snatching the glass out of Kenma’s hands. Pressing his lips to the rim, he took a swig before returning it back to its owner. “How’d you like _my show?_ ” Blunt. Kenma figured he wasn’t referring to the singing. 

He stared at his glass, where Kuroo’s mouth was just a moment ago. He gulped, feeling cracks beginning to form in his front. Heat was creeping up his neck. “It was…” he paused and he wished he hadn’t because Kuroo was giving him this look like he already _knew._ “Good.” He coughed into the back of his hand awkwardly before scanning the vicinity for the nth time that night. “Have you seen Shouyou?”

Kuroo’s smoldering stare didn’t falter due to the topic change, but he responded with, “Hinata? Last I saw, he was heading to the dressing rooms.” Kuroo’s knees were swaying to and fro, nudging playfully at Kenma’s sides. “Why? You plan on ditching me?”

Kenma shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Kuroo continued to stoke the conversation. “You and the kiddo know each other well?”

He nodded in affirmation.

“How’d you meet?”

Kenma nearly scoffed. This had to be some ploy he utilized to make his prey feel important and interesting, then when they were unexpectant and vulnerable, he attacked. He was positive Kuroo had done this a couple dozen times. 

“School,” Kenma answered dryly. 

“Huh,” Kuroo quirked an eyebrow, a smile still tilting his lips. “I was sure you two met through the profession. No way a pretty thing like you isn’t in the industry.”

Kenma felt his spine stiffen and his heartbeat quicken its pace at the simple compliment. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze. _Oh, my God, Shouyou, hurry,_ Kenma pleaded and if he didn’t believe in a higher being before, he certainly did now as Hinata appeared behind him.

The boy’s orange hair was noticeably more tousled than usual and the apples of his cheeks were burning crimson in embarrassment. Kenma caught sight of motion in his peripherals and instinctively rotated to look. A tall and slender black-haired man was swinging the exit door open before darting away, his shirt inside-out and adorning the same expression as Hinata. Oh, Kenma could read this situation. 

And apparently, Kuroo could too, his tone laced with insincere innocence, “Hey, kiddo, what’s got Kageyama in such a rush?”

Hinata shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “H-he probably doesn’t want to miss his train, or something,” he laughed awkwardly, halfheartedly. 

“Are trains still running at this hour-” Kenma kicked at the man’s ankle underneath the bar and Kuroo’s mouth snapped shut, but his twisted, knowing grin finished the sentence for him. 

“I- I- I don’t-” Hinata stammered uncontrollably. 

“It’s time for us to head out, right, Shouyou?” Kenma interjected then, a grateful sigh escaping Hinata’s lips. 

“Y-yeah, right,” Hinata agreed with a stern nod. He bowed slightly in Kuroo’s direction then turned on his heels and sauntered towards the exit.

Before Kenma could move to join his friend, Kuroo was sliding a slip of paper over the granite of the bar. Kenma peeked down at the slip inquisitively, eyes scanning over the text. 

“It’s a ticket to my solo performance Friday evening,” Kuroo explained. “It’s a more private show, so come if you prefer an intimate setting. I’d love to see you front row again.”

Kenma pocketed the paper silently. He met gazes with the taller man, nodding subtly in acknowledgement; his throat too dry to speak. He began shuffling his way towards the exit, Kuroo’s heavy, pointed stare carving its way underneath his flesh and burrowing there. 

He could still feel it as he squirmed restlessly in bed until sunrise.


	2. But It's Better If You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And isn't this exactly where you'd like me  
> I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know  
> Praying for love in a lapdance and paying in naivety
> 
> A.K.A, Kenma is a lightweight and Kuroo is still hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to keep up with the p!atd theme!

Kenma sat perched on his bed, engulfed in his favorite blankets while his thumbs twiddled with the joysticks belonging to the controller in his hands. The character portrayed on his TV was crouched, awaiting the enemy team’s imminent ambush. A flickering red nametag flashed across his screen and he lunged out of cover instinctively. He lined up his crosshairs, aiming at the intruder’s torso before he unloaded his virtual clip; however, one headshot delivered by the enemy had his character flopping around on the ground lifelessly like a limp ragdoll.

“You were eliminated by _jilessio_.” The words flashed at him mockingly before transitioning to the kill-cam. A timer counted off before his next respawn, but he merely placed his controller aside with a defeated sigh.

 Kenma found himself lacking the concentration necessary for the game and thus, round after consecutive round passed without a single victory. That had been his alibi for the last few days, since a certain man with a crooked smile somehow slithered his way into Kenma’s every waking thought. The boy muffled an exasperated groan into his pillow.

 God, why did he agree to leave the indoors for Hinata’s sake? Now his sanity and, more importantly, his kill-death ratio were suffering. He mentally blamed his friend for his current predicament and he shot a silent glare to the lump buried underneath a mound of blankets on the bed parallel to his.

“Kenma,” the lump mumbled sleepily, his voice stifled by the cocoon surrounding him. “I can feel you staring. It’s creeping me out.” Hinata stirred before rising to a sitting position, his orange hair splayed in every direction. His exhausted eyes blinked as they glanced at the alarm clock positioned on his nightstand, then they widened in shock. Kenma assumed that was his reaction to realizing he slept until two in the afternoon.

Once he accepted reality, his eyes fell on the TV where Kenma’s game was still playing in the background. The round had ended and Kenma’s stats were now displayed on the screen.

“You died _eleven_ times?” Hinata gasped, his mouth open in disbelief.

“Shut up,” Kenma snapped as he launched his pillow at the other boy’s head. “Like you ever do any better,” he murmured and Hinata shrugged his shoulders in response, surrendering.

Hinata stood from his bed, clad in a plain white tee and plaid boxers that he shamelessly bared as he shuffled around their cramped dorm room. He spooned ground coffee beans into their coffeemaker, the movements practically muscle-memory by now. He clicked the “on” switch and the appliance gurgled and bubbled as searing liquid pooled into the pot.

“I was thinking about going to movie night at the quad later, if you wanna join.” Hinata rambled as if he already had Kenma’s answer predicted. His gaze was focused on the coffeemaker, his tone not expectant in the least.

Kenma had the controller back in his hands now and he was mashing at buttons aggressively, determined to demolish his opponent this round, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Tonight?” Kenma asked. Hinata glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t tonight. I have a thing.” He stated it with such nonchalance, as if that fact hadn’t been gnawing at him since Tuesday evening. _A thing._ His stomach was twisting uncomfortably at the thought and his grip on the controller tightened.

Suddenly, Hinata was in front of him, kneeling at the foot of his bed and completely obstructing Kenma’s view of the TV screen. His grin was spread ear to ear and those almond eyes were twinkling with something Kenma couldn’t identify. “A thing on a Friday night? What thing?” The words rushed out of Hinata’s mouth in a jumble. “Is it a date? Do you have a date?”

“It’s not a _date,”_ Kenma spat as he leaned to the side, peeking over Hinata’s shoulder. _It’s not a date, it’s not a date,_ he continued to repeat mentally, an attempt to calm his quickening pulse.

Hinata was vibrating excitedly now, bouncing in place. He peered at Kenma expectantly. Kenma sighed as he discarded his controller once again and began rummaging through his nightstand. He retrieved the ticket he had tucked away, hidden in his other belongings, and he presented it to the adrenalized boy.

His eyes hungrily scanned the paper, reading aloud the text in a monotone voice. “Elysium Suites presents: Kuroo Tetsurou…” he trailed off then and gaped at his friend.

Kenma wanted to do nothing but bury himself underneath his blankets and hide from Hinata’s all-knowing stare.

“Guess you really liked his performance the other night, huh?” Hinata was elbowing him playfully and wiggling his eyebrows. Kenma was considering requesting a room change. The boy continued to scan the ticket and once again, his mouth was hanging open. “You’re sitting front-row? This must have cost a fortune!”

Kenma was retracting into himself, his voice meek as he replied, “He gave it to me.”

“He gave it to you?!” Hinata gasped and Kenma nodded in reply. The boy’s eyes were now flying around the room wildly. “What are you gonna wear?”

Kenma gestured down at his current state, gym shorts and a t-shirt, obviously not learning his lesson from last time. Hinata’s eyebrows knitted together in disapproval. “I know!” He piped up then. “I’ll go get Oikawa. He can give you some advice.”

“You mean Tooru, the Accounting major?” Kenma questioned, eyeing his friend carefully.

Hinata nodded animatedly.

 " _No.”_

“What’s wrong with Oikawa?!”

“I’d rather get dressed in the dark than take fashion advice from _him_.”

“Rude!”

 

* * *

 

Kenma tugged at the hem of his cardigan self-consciously. His skin tight pants felt like a prison suffocating his legs and the Oxford’s he borrowed from Hinata were constricting his feet uncomfortably. He was analyzing his reflection in a random shop’s window critically. His golden hair was pulled back into a loose knot and while the style felt ridiculous, Hinata assured him that _man-buns are the trend now!_ Kenma smoothed his hands over his black roots before trudging away, towards his destination.

Anxiety and anticipation were simultaneously bubbling in his gut, forcing him to lose his appetite. His fists were clenched at his sides in attempt to mask the slight quiver of his fingers. Kuroo had to have some kind of ulterior motive, right? Why else would he invite Kenma to his performance? “ _Don’t come home tonight! I’m locking the door!”_ Hinata had called after Kenma just before his departure and oh, God, it was repeating on loop in Kenma’s head like a skipping record.

Kenma knew he had enough… _experience…_ to not completely embarrass himself. He knew how to go through the moves like a set algorithm, but something about Kuroo’s presumptuous presence was mind-numbing enough to make him second guess his own name. However, that fact was irrelevant because Kenma was not a one-night-stand guy (anymore), and he vowed that after the performance, he was flagging a cab down and retreating home.

Standing Kuroo up and staying home for countless more rounds of Overwatch would have made staying true to his “abstinence” easier, but as much as he hated to admit, he did enjoy Kuroo’s show. There was a reason he was the headlining act at a high-end club and could book performances at elegant hotels; Kenma acknowledged that.

With phone in hand, he peered down at his screen, studying his GPS intently. He had never been on this side of the city before: where the buildings stretched high into the atmosphere and nightclubs were replaced with law firms. The atmosphere felt too exclusive for Kenma’s taste and as he neared the distinguished “Elysium Suites” he felt a lump forming in his throat. His feet threatened to betray him and dash in the opposite direction at the incredible sight of the skyscraper, but he plowed forward through the revolving door.

Even the purified air felt too pompous and stung Kenma’s throat. The plush carpet muffled his unsure steps and when he discovered the auditorium, a suited man confiscated his ticket and escorted him to his seat.

Kenma was in awe as he gaped at the rows and rows of filled seats. A chandelier dangled overhead and spotlights illuminated the stage where a lone piano sat, much like that Tuesday night.

He could feel his heartbeat vibrating underneath his skin, pulsing blood through his veins, but the sound was drowned out by the clamor of the crowd. Kenma sighed as he relaxed in his seat, the padded chair a welcomed gift. He fumbled idly with his phone, tapping away at the onscreen keyboard.

 **To:** Shouyou

> this place is regal as fuck and i look like a middle schooler.

He pressed the send button and glanced back down when his phone vibrated in his hands.

 **From:** Shouyou

> correction: u look like a dapper middle schooler kuroo will luv it

Kenma flinched, heat rising to his cheeks.

> Wtf does he have to do with anything

> ;)

Kenma glared at his device before pocketing it, nervousness coiling in his stomach as the lights dimmed. A man stepped out on to stage and Kenma recognized him as the opening act from Excalibur. Welcoming applause rippled throughout the theater. The lanky, blonde musician plopped down in front of the piano and positioned his fingers expertly over the keys. Kenma watched as a measured breath left his parted lips, his shoulders relaxing with the exhale before he began his piece.

It was classical again, the sound reverberating off the walls and rendering the audience speechless. However, Kenma didn’t lose himself in the music for his thoughts were travelling. He found himself wondering if Kuroo was standing backstage, behind the curtains. He wondered if the top buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie loose. He wondered if Kuroo was expecting him and if the same anticipation that was coursing down Kenma’s spine was flowing through his.

 

* * *

 

As Tsukishima’s piece gracefully came to an end, cheers could be heard from the other side of the curtain. Kuroo sipped on his water before tossing it aside, lopsided grin glued on his face. Tsukishima swaggered into view eventually, expressionless as usual while the audience pleaded for an encore.

“Nailed it,” Kuroo congratulated his friend who merely shrugged indifferently in response.

Tsukishima accepted a bottle of water from a crew member and downed half its contents, ignoring his friend’s annoying, playful stare.

"Shouldn’t you be warming up or something?” Tsukishima snapped.

“Already done.”

"Great, then you have time to change because that bowtie is horrendous.”

Kuroo’s hands defensively flew up to the black bow looped around his neck. He gasped dramatically, feigning offense. Tsukishima scoffed in return before rotating on his heels to return to his dressing room.

“So,” Kuroo began, stopping Tsukishima in his tracks. “Did you happen to spot a little blonde thing sitting up front? Cute? About yea high?” He held a hand parallel to his shoulders, demonstrating Kenma’s height.

Tsukishima’s brows furrowed together in aggravation. “No _,”_ he practically growled. “I kind of have to be looking at this thing called _my piano._ ”

“No, you don’t. It didn’t stop Stevie Wonder.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes before folding his arms across his chest. “Where’d you pick her up at this time?”

“ _He,”_ Kuroo corrected and his friend didn’t even blink in surprise. “I met him at the show last Tuesday.”

“So they bought your overpriced front row tickets just to increase their chances of banging you? How sad.”

“Okay, listen up, stringbean: for one,” Kuroo jutted his hip out, pointing an accusing finger at the blonde in front of him . “My tickets are not overpriced; it’s a small price to pay for quality. Two, he didn’t buy the ticket, I gave it to him.”

“Didn’t your manager tell you to stop handing out free tickets just for a lay?” Tsukishima sneered. “Maybe if you quit the playboy act and took your career seriously, you’d get somewhere,” Tsukishima countered bitterly and the statement would have been a low blow if it wasn’t directed at Kuroo who only chuckled in reply.

“Jesus, _mom,_ let a guy have some fun every now and then.”

Tsukishima huffed in defeat before storming off, Kuroo beaming slyly at his back.

 

* * *

 

Kenma was anxiously squirming in his seat as soon as the opening act waltzed offstage. He was gripping his armrests with white knuckles in a weak attempt to anchor himself to his chair, in fear he would flee last second. Oh, God, why did he come? He was alone and he didn’t have Hinata for support and he felt like a dysfunctional ball of nerves because he knew Kuroo would shoot him that smile that makes his heart race and peg him with that stare and _oh, God, oh, God._

Kenma stiffened, feeling the abrupt shift in atmosphere and he glanced up to see that tall man sauntering into view. His black suit was perfectly tailored and accentuating his broad shoulders, his lean hips, and his narrow legs that were seemingly infinite. The audience erupted into eager applause except for Kenma who was frozen in place, peering at Kuroo with weary eyes. The urge to hide behind his blonde locks was irrepressible, but his man-bun, as Hinata called it, prevented his form of escape.

Surprisingly, instead of seizing center stage, Kuroo meandered towards the piano where he took a seat. A microphone was secured on the lid of the instrument and Kuroo grasped it, positioning it in front of his lips. The audience stilled. Kuroo had yet to speak a word, but Kenma could feel his heavy spell weighing down on his shoulders.

Kuroo’s first note struck him like a slap to the face. It left Kenma astounded and breathless; he flinched as the second note rung out. Although, this time it was soothing, analgesic. It assuaged the previous note’s inflictions and allowed Kenma to relax into his seat. Kuroo’s voice was a light caress accompanied by the piano and it was all clouding Kenma’s mind. He couldn’t even focus on the lyrics spilling past Kuroo’s lips, but he also didn’t care.

He indulged in the way Kuroo slumped over the piano, imagining the muscles in his back rippling with every keyshift and the way his spine stiffened when he belted a high note, like a jolt of electricity rushed through his body. His eyes were sealed tight and Kenma pondered if Kuroo knew he was performing for hundreds of strangers in a theater and not for the dust mites in his living room.

Kenma’s stare was glued on Kuroo’s mouth now, memorizing the way he crooned into the microphone and the way they parted to draw in a sharp breath. He watched as Kuroo’s tongue occasionally darted out to wet his lips and it was all stirring a commotion up inside his body. It was all too, _too_ much and he had Kenma’s mind swimming in a foggy daze.

Kuroo had yet to meet his gaze and Kenma was questioning if he remembered he invited him, but then, as if he read the boy’s mind, his lids fluttered open and those dark eyes were piercing through Kenma’s own. A smirk was toying at his lips, as if he was trying desperately to conceal a grin but ultimately failing. Kuroo’s stare eventually began wandering, practically undressing Kenma in his seat and making the boy shift, flustered; however, he knew he could play Kuroo’s game too and he spread his legs slightly, his hand teasingly smoothing over his thigh. Kuroo caught the subtle movement and his smile disappeared to be replaced by something else entirely. _Maybe that was a mistake,_ Kenma thought to himself. Kuroo’s smooth, velvety voice transitioned into one much huskier and gravelly. During a pause in the song, he twisted his face away from the mic to clear his throat and continued with the show normally.

The man’s set lasted an hour long and Kuroo’s eyes only flickered up to meet Kenma’s a handful of times after the boy’s stunt. Kenma grinned to himself, triumphant. A feeling of odd disappointed washed over him when the note to Kuroo’s last song faded to nothing, and he stood to bow at the audience before strutting out of sight. The crowd was rallying at their feet, but Kenma remained seated as he typed a message on his phone.

> concert just ended. It was good. On my way home

Kenma collected his still scattered thoughts before standing. He was still in his desire-induced haze, but with a breath of fresh air, he would return to normal. He blended in with the flow of the crowd as he exited the theater, haste in his step.

Kuroo’s performance _was_ good, dangerously good and he was sure he could never forget that captivating voice. He was satisfied with his second and final experience spectating Kuroo Tetsurou’s act.

Kenma was standing near the street now, his eyes peeled for oncoming stray cabs when his phone vibrated in his fist.

> no kenma!!!! Stay!!!! Ur not coming home!1

Kenma rolled his eyes at Hinata as he caught sight of a taxi approaching in the distance. He began fumbling around in his pocket for his wallet, double checking he had enough cash to cover the fare. However, his fingers wrapped around nothing but lint. His eyebrows knitted together, his heart thrashing in his chest. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

The cab passed him, the wind whisking his fallen strands of hair behind him, but that was the least of his current worries. He was positive he brought his wallet; either it was dropped or he was pickpocketed. Kenma calmed the thoughts racing through his mind and agreed to begin his search in the auditorium so he pivoted on his heels, but immediately came in contact with a broad brick wall of a chest.

He stumbled backwards, perplexed as he took in the sight of a towering, raven-haired man. Kuroo was dangling Kenma’s wallet in his hand with a devious grin.

“In the midst of running away from me, you dropped this in your seat.”

“Oh,” Kenma mumbled, tentatively plucking the wallet out of Kuroo’s grasp. “Thanks.”

Kuroo scoffed, peering down at the blonde boy with amusement. “I thought we could have a nice post-performance act chat like last time. I was looking forward to it.” He smiled, eyes crinkling into endearing crescents.

Kenma stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring up at Kuroo despite the uneasiness coursing through him. Every nerve in his body was standing on end at the man’s close proximity, but he was unable to distance himself. “It’s getting late, so.”

“Oh?” Kuroo tilted his head. “So I assume my invitation to the afterparty is unwanted.”    

He stepped forward, leering over Kenma. Kenma sucked in a surprised breath which he immediately marked as a mistake when he inhaled a lungful of the man’s cologne. The enticing scent was suffocating, blurring his vision around the edges and leaving him with quivering knees. The scent was like aromatic poison, coursing through his bloodstream, winding up his spine until it reached his brain where it coiled around each individual neuron. It was Kuroo’s weapon of choice; he was in Kenma’s mind and the boy was under his control now.  

“Is it?” Kuroo questioned and by his tone, Kenma knew the man was fully aware of his actions.

“Is it what?” Kenma asked, clearly distracted.

“Is it unwanted?”

With a gulp, the boy shook his head. “It’s not.”

 

* * *

 

The taller man lead Kenma back to the now empty theater, to a room tucked away backstage. When Kuroo opened the door leading to the inside, Kenma was overwhelmed by the sound of house music blasting over speakers and the reek of alcohol. Kuroo’s hand was pressed against the small of Kenma’s back, guiding him past the threshold. The room was dim and smoky; strangers were mingling with each other, all holding glasses filled with mysterious liquids in their hands. This was definitely a contrast to Kenma’s usual Friday night.

“I’ll be back,” Kuroo murmured against the shell of Kenma’s ear before he whisked himself away, his hand on the boy’s back lingering until the last second.

Kenma glanced around the room, panicked. The unfamiliar faces and the foreign setting had him withdrawing into himself. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. It thumped with the beat of the bassline sounding throughout the room, thrumming against Kenma’s bones.

He retreated to the bar nestled in the corner where he ordered a beer to mollify himself. What was he doing? Why was he here? He hardly _knew_ Kuroo. He could be a murderer, the head honcho of a drug cartel on the search for a new mule to smuggle contraband across the border and Kenma looked just the _perfect_ amount of inconspicuous. Here he was, an idiotic university student whose better judgement succumbed to hormones. That would most likely be the newspaper’s headlines tomorrow morning when his corpse is found.

All of the intrusive thoughts ricocheted off the walls of his brain, yet he could still feel the searing burn of Kuroo’s touch on his skin from moments ago. He was utterly hopeless.

A vibration against his thigh snapped him back to reality.

 **From:** Shouyou

> where are u ? u said u were on ur way

Kenma sighed as he typed his reply.

> at some party kuroo dragged me to.

A split-second after the text sent, he received a message in response.

> ARE U ACTUALLY LISTENING TO ME??!!

  KEEP ME UPDATED

Kenma pocketed the device with an irritated grumble, sipping the brown liquid that brimmed his glass. His eyes scanned his surroundings again until they fell on Kuroo. A small group was circled around the man, listening intently and reacting accordingly to a humorous story he must have been recounting. His charming smile didn’t appear forced in the least and his body language was open and inviting. Kenma hurriedly twisted himself back to the bar in fear of Kuroo catching his stare.Why? Why Kenma of all people?

Kenma would be lying if he said the incessant thought hadn’t been nipping at him since the beginning of the evening. He had no extraordinary talents, he couldn’t entrance people with the lull of his voice, he didn’t consider himself exceedingly attractive. He was just a bland college student with an addiction to video games.

Kuroo is… a _god._ A disgustingly beautiful, gifted, cocky _god._ He obviously had the ability to seduce any living, breathing thing, so why Kenma?

Was this some cruel joke? At the end of the night would a hidden camera crew emerge from behind the bar while confetti cascaded from the ceiling? A banner with the words “Bitch you thought” would be strewn across the wall and Kenma would scamper away while a crowd of people cackled at his embarrassment. Yeah, this is why he hated leaving the house. After this, he agreed on becoming a full fledged hermit. He drank to that.

Kenma was already working on his third glass when the stool next to his groaned as a weight settled into the seat. Kuroo ordered his scotch, neat, before turning to Kenma, his knees pressing into the boy’s sides, similar to their encounter a few nights ago.

“Sorry about that.” Kuroo beamed, coy but apologetic. “My manager’s been bugging me about ‘connections.’” Kenma swallowed a chuckle at Kuroo’s air quotes.

The man ran his long fingers through his black hair with an exhausted sigh. His hands then maneuvered to unbutton the top of his shirt and he tossed his bowtie aside. It was a look Kenma was growing accustomed to, but that didn’t mean it didn’t stoke the fire flickering in his gut. Kuroo leaned towards the boy, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“So,” Kuroo began, his tone airy and coquettish. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Oh, _God,_ was this an episode of _The Bachelor?_ Kuroo continued to peer at him seriously, awaiting an answer.

“Um,” Kenma murmured then, fingers dancing up and down the sides of his glass. “I’m Kenma. I’m twenty-two. I’m an Engineering major. I like beer.” That hit all of his points.

Kuroo nodded, humming in interest to signal for Kenma to proceed. So they continued on like that: Kenma spouting off random facts about himself and Kuroo concentrating on him like he was the single most enthralling being in all of Japan. Kenma considered it almost unsettling the way Kuroo stared at him. Occasionally he would bob his head encouragingly or laugh when Kenma voiced a witty remark.

It wasn’t until approximately fifteen minutes later, when Kenma (who was admittedly already feeling the effects of alcohol) was in the middle of recalling a story about how he twisted his ankle in elementary school, did Kuroo move.

“So I’m on the monkeybars, right? And this girl, I didn’t even _know_ her, walked up to me and she was all ‘I like you.’ And I, being a little boy, not knowing I am irreversibly gay, am all like ‘ew, no.’ So she fucking goes to push m-”

The feeling of Kuroo’s fingers twining themselves into the knot tied behind Kenma’s head forced his story to a halt. The man tugged on Kenma’s locks, freeing them from the hair-tie and letting the golden hair fall to his shoulders and frame his face like curtains. A shiver racked Kenma’s spine at the sensation and goosebumps erupted across his skin. Suddenly, he felt more sober than before his first drink. He practically gaped at Kuroo while attempting to mask his shock.

“Like it better this way,” Kuroo explained casually before propping his chin back up in his palm.      

Despite the heat Kenma could feel creeping up his neck, he continued on with his story, albeit with less vigor and passion behind his words. His mind wasn’t focused on the task at hand, too entranced by the feeling of Kuroo’s long fingers tangled in his strands. Only a few minutes passed until he felt the warm press of Kuroo’s hand against the curve of his back once again. The hand was massaging small, teasing circles into Kenma’s flesh and forcing him to stutter.

Kenma only managed to blink at Kuroo’s innocent grin as he persevered, proceeding with the anecdote; however, he came to another abrupt stop once the man’s hand found it’s way to his thigh.

Kenma hissed through clenched teeth in surprise. His spine stiffened to an uncomfortable degree.

“So,” Kuroo started, nonchalantly, Kenma’s silence his cue to begin a new topic. “Was the performance up to your expectations?”

Kenma instinctively huffed out a laugh, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt self-consciously to distract himself from the hand on his thigh. “You could have burped the alphabet onstage and it would have exceeded my expectations.” _What the hell, Kenma? That’s so unsexy._

Kuroo chuckled. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No,” he mumbled, peering down at his attire. He wondered if he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “This just isn’t my… scene.”

“Oh? Could have fooled me.” Kuroo remarked as his eyes wandered down Kenma’s frame. “You looked good sitting up front.”

Kenma stilled in his seat. He busied his mouth with his drink to hide the fact he had _no fucking clue how to respond to that._ What what he supposed to say? “Oh, yeah, back at ya. Those legs go on for miles in that suit, big boy. I’d scale that mountain any day! Play me like that piano, stud.” Kenma was cringing.

“You looked really good,” Kuroo repeated.

The man was strangely silent as he began palming at the flesh of Kenma’s thigh, peering at the boy with hungry, curious eyes. Kenma gasped. Electricity was coursing underneath his skin with each knead, jolts of arousal pooling in his stomach. He was staring at his reflection rippling in his beer, willing his erratic heart rate to slow. Underneath this alcohol-induced haze and Kuroo’s ministrations, Kenma felt absolutely… blissful. It was dangerous. He was sure Kuroo was still speaking to him, but it was all background noise to him. He didn’t think he could respond with verbal, coherent sentences anyways. Kuroo didn’t seem to mind.

Kuroo was flush against Kenma’s side now, his warm chest pressed to the boy’s shoulder. He was practically mouthing at his ear. “You don’t seem like the type who likes crowds,” the man drawled. “Is that right?”    

The boy stiffened again at the feeling of hot breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, but the gentle caressing hand still on his thigh had him _melting_ in his seat. Kenma could hear his own breathing growing more and more labored. His lips were parted, desperately gasping for oxygen to still his spinning vision. He nodded his head jerkily in confirmation.

Kuroo’s lips were pressed to his temple now and Kenma could feel the man grinning against his skin as he squirmed underneath his hand. “Well, people are staring,” he observed. “Sorry.” There wasn’t a hint of sincerity in his tone.  

Kenma was too drunk on Kuroo’s scent, Kuroo’s proximity, Kuroo’s warmth, and that heavenly voice of his that made Kenma just want to sin. He dared not speak because he knew his voice would come out too hitched, too needy. Instead, he silently allowed Kuroo to continue whispering into his ear, coaxing tiny gasps out of his mouth and shooting subtle, invisible shivers through his body that only Kuroo could feel.

Kenma quickly downed the last drop of his sixth?-seventh?-beer. He almost never drank this much, but it was in a desperate attempt to ignore Kuroo’s allure; however, it seemed to have a reverse effect. He was leaning into the man’s side, his eyes fluttering. Each of his limbs felt weighed down and he allowed himself to fall face first into Kuroo’s warm, embracive chest.  His scent was crashing over Kenma like tidal waves, utterly intoxicating him.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but eventually he felt Kuroo’s hand sliding into his front pocket. The man retrieved Kenma’s phone, Kenma too lethargic to even stir. A few moments passed before his device was slipped back into his pants and Kuroo gently curled his fingers around Kenma’s arm, lifting him from his seat. A gust of cool, refreshing air washed over Kenma’s face as Kuroo lead him out of the room, into the theater.

“Where‘re we goin’?” Kenma questioned, swaying slightly on his feet.

“You’re going home,” Kuroo replied, aiding Kenma as he guided him up the auditorium’s stairs.

“No, I’m not,” the boy replied, sternly. “Just got here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.”

It must have been the alcohol clouding Kenma’s judgement because while sober, he would never have shoved Kuroo into a nearby auditorium seat and slung his leg across the man’s waist, straddling him.

Saddled in Kuroo’s lap, Kenma muttered, “Don’t wanna.” He was grasping Kuroo’s shoulders, staring into the man’s eyes with nothing but confidence backing his words.

“You’re stubborn,” Kuroo murmured back, awestricken by the boy’s actions. His palms were rubbing heated stripes up Kenma’s thighs. “And very drunk.”

“Don’t care.” His hands were pressed against Kuroo’s chest now, relishing the way he could feel Kuroo’s heart pound underneath his palm. “‘M going home with you.” Kenma could drown in his own shame later, but right now, he was overcome with arousal and desire.

Something flickered in Kuroo’s eyes. His hands moved to Kenma’s back, his fingers dancing up the boy’s spine, each vertebrae a key on his piano. Kenma wondered what symphony the man was accompanying on his skin as he shifted in his lap. 

Kenma could still feel the bass from the house music vibrating against his bones. He allowed the muffled beat to infiltrate his ears and flow through him. He lifted himself up on his knees and began twisting his hips languidly, ignoring the uncertainty nipping at him. He wound his hips in small, leisure circles, gripping onto Kuroo's broad shoulders for leverage. Kenma couldn't help but grin at the barely audible gasp the man emitted.

He rolled his hips back in time with the music before snapping them forward. Kuroo was wonderstruck, his eyes glued to Kenma as if they were afraid they'd miss a movement. His hands drifted from the boy's back and fell to his sides, devouring the sight of Kenma gyrating, hovering above his groin.

Kenma turned around, his back towards Kuroo, and continued his lewd dance. Kuroo’s hands were planted firmly on the boy’s hips now, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt with enough pressure to mark the flesh underneath. Kuroo held on, wanting to feel each sway of Kenma’s body.

Kenma had never done this before, absolutely not. If someone asked him, “Hey, would you ever give a free lapdance to a man you barely know?” He would reply with _hell no._ If said person retorted, “Yeah, but what if they were really hot and could sing?” Kenma would say _over my dead body;_ yet, here he was, grinding like a stripper whose rent is due tomorrow. If this is how Kenma behaves when he’s plastered, maybe he should think twice before getting drunk from now on.

But maybe it wasn’t the alcohol and it was just _Kuroo._

He could feel Kuroo’s chest pressed against his back now, their bodies completely flush. Kuroo’s face was buried in the crook of his shoulder, grasping his swivelling waist for dear life. 

Kenma was pushing back against Kuroo’s groin and the man hissed, his grasp tightening. Oh, Kenma liked that reaction. He couldn’t hear the music over the thumping of his heart against his eardrum, but he continued with the motion, completely losing himself in the way Kuroo reciprocated, countering each movement.

When Kenma rotated back around he wasn’t prepared for the sight below him: Kuroo’s chest rising and falling, his lips parted as he breathed deeply, his pupils swallowing his irises entirely, his eyes appearing like infinite abysses and Kenma was spiraling down.  

 Kuroo’s hand was at the back of Kenma’s neck now, tugging him down. Their lips were hovering over one another’s; Kenma could feel hot breath wafting over his already overheated cheeks. He was practically panting as Kuroo eyed his mouth like a goddamn meal.

“‘M going home with you,” Kenma repeated again and Kuroo’s gaze flickered up to meet the boy’s.

There was a pause. “No,” he stated bluntly.

Kenma’s brows furrowed, his nose wrinkling in cute distaste. “Why?”

“Trust me,” Kuroo said, voice low. “It’s better sober.”

Kenma was _dying_ to ask what “it” was, but Kuroo had already coaxed him off his lap and was tugging him along towards the exit. Kenma was stuffed into a taxi, borderline unconscious. He could hear the muffled sound of Kuroo exchanging words with the cabbie.

 

* * *

 

Kenma awoke the next morning with an ache in his head and this text conversation in his messages.  

 

 

Kenma was definitely requesting a room change.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whispers,, my psn name is jilessio add me if u wanna overwatch 
> 
> BUT ANYWAYS, so there's chapter 2. fear not, kiddos, there will be a chapter 3....probably a chapter 4
> 
> DRUNK KENMA GIVING A LAPDANCE AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT i died writing that scene, tbh 
> 
> let me know what you think and as always, hmu if you spot any spelling/grammar errors!! they're probably in there somewhere because i only reread this once....i get embarrassed reading my own stuff and i don't have a beta LMAO
> 
> scream at me on tumblr: ohta-san.tumblr.com  
> scream at me on twitter: twitter.com/jiIessio


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